


Working Hard

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [24]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Hanella spice things up a bit by playing a game.





	

Hank watched from the bed as Stella walked around the room collecting items for her suitcase.  Her blouse was open and her hair was still wet and coiled in a towel on her head.  Her breasts jiggled softly as she bent and struggled with the zipper of her make-up bag.  Her bra was slate-grey, satin, and he knew from personal experience, had a soft lining inside the cups.  Even half-dressed and packing a bag, she was ridiculously enticing.

 

“Have you ever had to work for it?” Hank asked.

 

“Work for what?” she asked.

 

“At seduction.”

 

One of her eyebrows arched higher as she began to button her blouse.  Hank pushed himself up from his reclining position and slid to the edge of the bed.  She moved closer to him and stood between his knees as she closed the last button.  He took her hand when she lowered her arm and turned her wrist up.  He closed the button on her right cuff and then her left.

 

“Thank you,” she said.

 

“You’re welcome.”  He ran his thumb over the center of her palm and looked up at her.

 

“Have  _ you _ ever had to work for it?” she asked.

 

“I’ve always been more of the pursued and not the pursuer.  Has anyone ever turned you down?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Really?”

 

Stella moved away and unwound the towel from her head.  She shook her hair free and closed the door to the bathroom behind her.  A few moments later, Hank heard the hairdryer and he poked at the contents of Stella’s bag.  He took her perfume out of the make-up case and took the cap off.  The scent of it was too vague, so he sprayed a bit on her pillow and then leaned over, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

 

It was almost terrifying how bewitched he felt sometimes.  He couldn’t imagine anyone ever saying no to Stella.  He’d wanted her from the moment she sat down across from him in that hotel and he’d never stopped.  Just the smell of her or the sway of her hips or the timbre of her voice at the end of a long day or the slash of bare skin in the slit of her skirt got him so hard.  God, he was a melancholy fuck when she was going out of town.

 

The whirr of the blowdryer went silent and a few minutes later, Stella came out of the bathroom.  The way she put herself together never failed to amaze him, but he found her just as beautiful with messy hair and no make-up.  She caught him watching her as she closed her suitcase and she stepped back between his legs.  His hands were to her hips and she rested her forearms on his shoulders.

 

“Men don’t require much persuasion,” she said, fingers dancing across his nape to slide into the hair on the back of his head.  “You certainly didn’t.”

 

“Well, I was a bit of a slut.”

 

“All it took was a suggestion and…”  She snapped her fingers behind his head.

 

“What if I’d turned you down?”

 

“I’d have walked away.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“No means no, Hank.”

 

“So, what if I’d said maybe?”

 

“Depends on whether or not I found you worthy of the effort.”

 

“Then you  _ have _ had to work for it before.”

 

Stella smoothed her hand back over Hank’s head, petting him like the loyal dog he was.  “I said that men don’t require much persuasion,” she said.  “Women like more than mere suggestion.”

 

“Do they?”  Hank slid his hands down from her hips to her backside.

 

“Some women like being seduced.”

 

“And some just take what they want,” he answered, squeezing her ass hard enough that she pulled on his hair.

 

“Don’t wrinkle me,” she said, rolling her hips slightly.  “The car will be here any minute.”

 

“Do I get to kiss you goodbye, or will I smudge you?”

 

“Hold still,” she answered, pulling his hair to tip his head back.  She swept her tongue across his mouth before brushing her lips against his in the lightest of kisses.

 

“Just two nights, right?” he asked.

 

“I’ll call.”

 

*****

 

She did call, as soon as she landed in Dublin.  She’d been thinking about what he’d said before she left while she was on the plane and it felt like an interesting proposition.  What would either of them do if they had to work a little more to turn each other on?

 

“Will you come to Ireland?” Stella asked.

 

“You want me in Ireland?” Hank answered.

 

“I do.”

 

“What about your conference?”

 

“It’s just during the day.”

 

“That’s the same argument I made when you told me not to go.”

 

“I’ve changed my mind.”

 

“I’ll call the airline and see what I can find.”

 

“Do that.  I want to play a game with you.”

 

*****

 

The rules of the game are simple: they don’t know each other and the first to break loses.  Hank picks up the extra key waiting at the front desk and takes his bag up to Stella’s room.  There is a note on the bed asking him to meet her in the hotel bar at seven.  He heads down early to be the first one there, orders a scotch on the rocks, and sips it as he waits for her.

 

The bar reminds him of an old ski lodge with it’s dark wood and vaulted ceilings.  A stone fireplace takes up half of the center wall.  It crackles and sparks, but he doesn’t feel much of the heat from the corner where he’s made himself comfortable.  The streets outside are damp from rain and he contemplates Joyce and Yeats as he looks out the window.

 

He sees her walk in out of the corner of his eye.  She’s not wearing the skirt and blouse she had on when she left the house.  Instead, she’s wearing a wine-colored v-neck sweater and grey slacks.  She sits down at one of the little tables closer to the fireplace and tosses her hair back over her shoulder as she scans the tapas menu.  There are only a handful of other patrons there; an older couple at a table behind Hank and two men at the bar.   

 

Hank waits for Stella to acknowledge him.  When she glances up from the menu, he raises his glass at her in a greeting.  She holds his gaze for just a moment, tosses her hair lightly over her shoulder, and then she looks away.  That’s right.  This Stella is going to take what she wants.  This Stella is going to play hard to get, but he’s not going to be so easy either.

 

After waiting a few moments, Hank gets up and moves slowly to Stella’s table.  Before he came downstairs, he put on the cologne she likes and he’s wearing her favorite leather jacket.  He catches the glance she gives to his chest as he approaches.  He puts his drink down on her table, but keeps his hand on the glass.

 

“I hate to see a beautiful woman alone,” he says.

 

Stella doesn’t look up.  “A bit presumptuous, don't you think?” she asks.

 

“Are you alone?”

 

“I might be.  Or, I might be waiting for someone.”

 

“Well, whoever you're waiting for is an asshole for keeping you waiting.”

 

“I’ve been here exactly thirty seconds.”

 

“I stand by my statement that whoever you’re waiting for is an asshole for keeping you waiting.  Even for thirty seconds.”

 

She finally puts the menu aside and looks up at him.  “As it so happens, I'm not waiting for anyone.”

 

“Well, then.  We could solve both our problems in one fell swoop.”

 

“I was not aware we had problems.”

 

He shrugs.  “You’re alone, as am I.  If I joined you, neither of us would be alone and I would feel a whole lot better about it.  You have to admit, the logic is genius.”

 

“I suppose there’s no harm in letting you sit down.”  

 

“Before I do that, can I buy you a drink?”

 

“Sauvignon blanc.”

 

He glances down at the menu on the table.  “There’s a cheese plate on there that looked promising.”

 

“I actually had more interest in the nachos.”

 

Hank grins at her and gives her a nod.  Even if she’s a stranger to him tonight, he should’ve known that one.  He takes his drink with him to get it refreshed and orders her wine and nachos from the bartender.  When he returns to her, he hands her the glass instead of setting it on the table and waits for her to accept it before he sits down.

 

“The nachos will be out shortly,” he says, extending his hand across the table.  “I’m Hank, by the way.”

 

“Stella.”  She puts her glass down and puts her hand in his.  He gives it a squeeze and then releases her.  She picks up her wine and puts her nose to the glass.

 

Hank puts his elbow on the table and leans closer, holding his drink up.  “Would you like to toast?” 

 

“To what?”

 

“Not being alone.  For the moment.”

 

She raises her eyebrow for a moment, but then taps her glass softly against his.  They both take a drink and he sits back in his chair.  She brushes her hair away from her face and her eyes travel around the room.

 

“What do you do?” Hank asks.

 

“What do you  _ think _ I do?” she answers.

 

“Quite possibly, you roam the world breaking hearts.  Maybe you’re here in Dublin to break mine.”

 

“I don’t even know you.”

 

“And that is heartbreaking in and out of itself.”

 

“I’m in law enforcement.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

“Why does it make sense?”

 

“I felt arrested the moment I saw you walk in.”

 

“That was an awful pick-up line.”

 

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t my best.”

 

“And what do you do, Hank?”

 

“I’m a writer.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

“Why does it make sense?”

 

“You clearly think you’re quite clever.”

 

He grins at her.  “Oh, I don’t think.  I know.”

 

“Arrogant, too.”

 

“Or confident, some might say..”

 

“Who might say?”

 

“People.”  Hank takes a sip of his drink.  “What brings you to Dublin, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“I don’t mind you asking.  A conference on jurisdictional and legal challenges in law enforcement.”

 

“Is that something you find enjoyable?”

 

“I do.  And what brings  _ you _ to Dublin?”

 

“Thought I might go over to Trinity College and have a look at The Book of Kells.”

 

“All the way from...wherever it is in America you’re from, just to look at a book?”

 

“Why not?”  He shrugs and smiles.  “But, I don’t live in the states anymore.  I’ve been in London for the last three years.”

 

“How do you like it there?”

 

They’re interrupted by the bartender, who sets the basket of nachos on their table.  “Get anything else for you?” he asks.

 

“Stella?” Hank asks.

 

“Thank you, I’m fine.”

 

The bartender nods and leaves them alone.  Hank watches Stella pick at the nachos and selects one covered with the most cheese, beef, and whatever the hell else was dripping from it.  Her ability to devour disgusting, greasy good without shame was just another stupid thing he loved about her.  She licked the tip of her finger after finishing her chip.

 

“You were about to tell me about London,” she said.  “How do you like it?”

 

“I love it, actually.  It’s the happiest I’ve probably ever been.”

 

Stella pauses with a chip suspended in her hand, dripping cheese onto the table.  “Is that true?” she asks, seriously.

 

“Yes, that’s true.”

 

Stella maintains prolonged eye contact with Hank until the chip finally finds its way into her mouth.  She licks her finger again and then takes a sip of her wine.  He dabs his thumb into a bead of condensation that’s dripped onto the table from his glass.

 

“I live in London as well,” she finally says.

 

“Maybe we’ll run into each other some day.  I used to have a knack for getting on the wrong side of the law.”

 

“Have you reformed?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

“What changed?”

 

“As usual, wanted to impress a woman and then realized I liked myself better when I wasn’t pissing off everyone around me.”

 

“Was the woman impressed?”

 

“I've never asked.  I think it's possible she was.”

 

“If it were me, I would be impressed.  It takes a lot to reform.”

 

“Thank you, Stella.”

 

She drops her eyes and plucks another nacho out of the basket.  A bit of sauce stains the corner of her mouth.  He stares at it.  If they weren’t playing this silly game, he might offer to lick it it off of her, free of charge.  She notices him staring and licks her lips before diving into another chip.

 

“How long are you in Dublin for?” he asks.

 

“I’m leaving Wednesday,” she answers.

 

“What a coincidence, I’m also leaving on Wednesday.”

 

“Are you staying in the hotel?”

 

“I am.  Are you?  Or are you somewhere with your conference?”

 

“I never like to stay where a conference is being held.”

 

A pregnant pause hangs between them.  If either ask the other up to their room, they’ll lose.  Stella tosses her hair over her shoulder and to Hank, it looks like she does it in slow motion.    She sips her wine as she holds his gaze, and waits.

 

“Maybe you’ll think me presumptuous,” he says.

 

“Yes?” she asks, and it’s like her voice has dropped an octave lower.

 

“Since we’re both at the hotel…”

 

“Mmhm…”

“And we’re here one more night…”

 

“We are…”

 

“Would you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

 

She blinks and her head jerks back a little as though she’s surprised and he smiles at her before taking a drink of his scotch, letting an ice cube roll into his mouth so he can chew on it, but first he pushes it into the pocket of his cheek with his tongue.

 

“We both have to eat, right?” he says.

 

“That is true.”

 

“Shall we say seven o’clock, meet at the restaurant?”

 

“Alright.”

 

Hank downs the rest of his drink and stands.  He holds his hand out until Stella puts hers out as well and he grasps it lightly, but holds on.

 

“It was nice meeting you, Stella,” he says. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” she answers.

 

“I look forward to it.”

 

He grins in the elevator and sheds his clothes almost immediately when he gets inside their room.  He’s in his underwear making room service selections when Stella comes in.

 

“Hey, stranger,” he says.  “I was thinking about ordering something. You want in?”

 

Stella kicks her heels off and stretches out on the bed, propping herself up on her elbow.  “I thought I had you,” she says.

 

“Guess I’m not as weak-willed as you thought.”

 

“Guess not.  I finished the nachos.  Just get me a salad.  I’m going to shower.”

 

“You need me to wash your back?”

 

“If you can be quick about it.  I've got to be up by six.”

 

“Oh, a challenge.  Tom, I’m betting I can make that woman come in two minutes.”

 

Stella turns as she's slipping off the bed and gives him a quizzical eye.

 

“Name That Tune,” he clarifies.  “You know, they bet on how quickly-”

 

“I got it,” she interrupts.  “Two minutes is an awfully long time.  Surely you can do better than that.”

 

He looks up at her with a shit-eating grin.  If she's in a ‘shut up and fuck me, Hank’ mood, and what transpired downstairs put her there, he probably could've gotten her to break.  He's glad he stopped it when he did, though.  It just means they get to keep playing tomorrow.

 

“I bet I can make you come in twenty seconds, Sherlock,” he says.

 

“Call room service.  I'll be waiting.”

 

*****

 

Hank heads downstairs early the next night.  If he knows Stella, she'll want to freshen up after her conference, so he leaves the room empty for her.  At ten ‘til, he asks the maitre’d if they can be seated in a quiet corner when his dinner companion arrives.  At five after, she steps off the elevator and glides towards him.  He's sure heads turn as she walks by, but he can't take his eyes off her.

 

He hadn't dressed up for the occasion, his jeans and leather jacket were an all-purpose uniform as far as he was concerned.  Stella though, was in a navy blue dress, fitted perfectly to the curves and angles of her body.  Around her waist was a thin black belt.

 

“You look fantastic,” he says, placing a hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades.  “Shall we?”

 

As requested, the maitre’d seats them in a corner.  The restaurant has a similar look to the bar, except it lacks a fireplace.  It’s also more crowded than the bar, but still quiet.  They’re given menus and then left alone.

 

“Uh oh,” says Hank.  “No nachos on this menu.”

 

“I’ll survive,” Stella says.  “Did you visit The Book of Kells?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And did you enjoy it?”

 

“The library was impressive.  Sometimes I find myself amongst books and it’s the closest I’ll ever be to a spiritual moment because I think about all those words that are thousands of years old and the billions of people that have read them.  It’s something to connect us all through time.  Maybe the only thing that can connect us all through time.”

 

Stella smiles a little and puts her menu down.

 

“You can tell me to shut the fuck up if I’m rambling,” Hank says.

 

“No, please.  I like when people speak about things they’re passionate about.”

 

“Be careful what you wish for.  I’m fairly famous in some circles for my diarrhea of the mouth.”

 

Stella pulls a slight grimace and Hank shrugs.  Their waiter appears to ask for their drink orders and they both get what they had the night before.  When he leaves, Hank gives the menu another once over.  He orders a steak and Stella gets the vegetable ravioli when the waiter returns with their drinks.

 

“Tell me about your conference,” Hank says.  “What’s new and exciting in the land of cops versus lawyers?”

 

“The challenge is with the government, more than the law itself.  It’s mostly just a way to network to gain cooperation in areas of transnational crime.”

 

“Like trying to get someone extradited?

 

“Maybe.  Or the increasing problem of cybercrime.”

 

“Is that something you’re passionate about?”

 

“Making the world a safer place, yes.”

 

“I bet you’re good at your job.”

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“You just seem like a woman who gets things done.”

 

“Well, it isn’t easy.”

 

“No, but I bet you’re not afraid of a little hard work.”

 

“No, I’m not afraid.”  She says this quietly before taking a sip of her wine.

 

Hank nods in agreement.  “No, I don’t believe that you are.  What was the hardest case you ever had to work on?”

 

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s not really dinner conversation.”

 

“Right now we’re just having drinks.”  He lifts his glass before taking a sip.  “Dinner isn’t here yet.”

 

“You’re just a stranger I met in a bar.”

 

“Who better to talk to than a stranger?  You can tell me and all I can do is listen.”

 

Stella shrugs a little and stares at the table as she traces her finger over the rim of her wine glass.

 

“All I  _ will  _ do is listen,” Hank says.  “I know I may give off the impression that I don’t know how to shut the fuck up, but I can actually be a very good listener.  I think.  Well, I can try to be.  Another thing that’s sort of under reform.”

 

A short silence follows and Hank thinks he might have brought the game to a halt.  Stella finally lifts her eyes to his.

 

“One of the first cases I supervised was arson,” she says.  “A woman who locked her three young children in their bedrooms and drugged her husband before setting the house on fire.”

 

Hank reminds himself to keep quiet and not to interrupt, not to ask questions.  He keeps his mouth shut and hopes she’ll elaborate on this because she rarely talks about work.  He knows more from the news than he does from her.

 

“It was difficult to prove,” Stella continues.  “The medical examiner had the hardest time of it.  Two of the firefighters who discovered the bodies quit the brigade shortly thereafter.  It wasn’t so much the fire and the death, it was the idea that a mother would deliberately and very calculatedly murder her three children all under the age of six.  It was unforgettable and unforgivable.”

 

“That sounds…that sounds horrible.”

 

“It was.”

 

“How did you cope with it?”

 

“How did I cope?”  Stella tilts her glass and ponders her wine for a few moments.  “I thought of how fortunate it was that justice was served in this situation and I kept reminding myself that cases like that are why I do what I do.”

 

“You’re incredible, Stella.”

 

She rolls her eyes a bit and shakes her head, downing nearly half of her wine with her next drink.

 

“No, really,” he says, putting a hand to his heart momentarily in sincerity.  “Can I just say, as someone who is completely unbiased and impartial, and has only known you for less than a day, that I already feel better knowing someone like you is out there putting bad guys away.  You’re like Wonder Woman.  And if you tell me you have an invisible jet or a golden lasso I swear I’ll believe you.”

 

“No, not even close.  And on that note…”  She straightens a little as the waiter approaches, a tray on his shoulder with their plates.

 

They begin dinner making polite conversation about the food.  The lights dim after a bit and music starts to play softly.  It dawns on Hank that he’s never really had a normal dating experience.  Certainly not with Stella, and he can’t really think of the last ‘date’ he’d had.  He wonders what people talk about if they’re not fucking.

 

“If you wanted to get to know someone better,” Hanks says, “what would you ask them?”

 

She chews thoughtfully at a bite of ravioli and then takes a sip of her wine.  “I’d probably start with something fairly basic,” she says.  “Like favorite color and move on from there.”

 

“Red.  What about you?”

 

“Beige.”

 

“ _ Beige _ ?  That’s not even a real color.”

 

“Of course it is, and it’s very practical.  It also blends well with almost all the other colors.”

 

“It’s  _ beige _ .  That might even be Russian or something for boring.”

 

“Unlike red?”

 

“Red is spicy.  It’s dangerous.  Put a woman in red and it’s like a moth to a flame for most men.  Red shoes.  Red nail polish.  Red lipstick.  Red lingerie.  Red dress.”

 

She smiles as she cuts into a ravioli.  “It’s funny, I believe I had a conversation just the other day about how easily men are enticed.”

 

“I think everyone, men and women, appreciate visual stimulus.  And I’m just saying that red is a color that’s highly visually appealing.” 

 

“Yes, I am aware of that fact.”

 

“How about your favorite movie?”

 

“Two Women.”

 

“Ah, you went foreign.”  He nods, not surprised in the least.  “And heartbreaking.”

 

“It’s not so much the movie itself, but Sophia Loren’s performance.  Her portrayal of pain and desperation and strength is masterful.”

 

“Not really one you can take pleasure watching, but it’s quite moving.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I think I’m going to have to go with a movie I take absolute pleasure in watching and say This is Spinal Tap.”

 

“That’s a very amusing film.”

 

“You’ve seen it?”

 

“You seem surprised.”

 

“Well, I know we just met and everything, but you don’t strike me as a comedy type.”

Stella nods a little and then looks contemplative.  She toys with her earlobe for a few moments.  “My father was a huge fan of Monty Python,” she says.  “We used to watch it together.”

 

He hopes to keep the surprise out of his voice when he answers her.  She very rarely talks about her father.  “Oh?”

 

“He was a very busy man, but that was one of his indulgences.  I don’t really know if I laughed because I thought it was funny or because he was laughing.”

 

“That’s a good memory, Stella.”

 

She rubs her neck with the tips of her fingers and then picks up her wine.  “How about your favorite book?”

 

“That’s always a tough question for me.”  He notices that his scotch is nearly gone and he searches the room for the waiter, raising his glass slightly as an indication he’d like another.  He sits back and twists his lips in thought.  “If I really think about it, I think Henry Roth’s  _ Call it Sleep _ was the first book that inspired me.  Like, really inspired me.  I think I was maybe fourteen or so when I read it and it was the first time I read something that I felt I connected with.  It spoke to me and seemed to convey the feelings I had about my own family - my own father.  I didn’t really know books could do that.  And then I thought, well I want to  _ do _ that.”

 

“Another, Sir,” the waiter interrupts, placing a fresh glass in front of Hank.  “More wine, Miss?”

 

“Please,” Stella says.

 

“Can I get you anything else?”

 

“I’m fine,” Hank replies.

 

“I’m finished,” Stella answers.

 

The waiter takes her plate away.

 

“So, you knew at that age you wanted to be a writer?” she asks.

 

“No, but I wanted to write.  I got sidetracked though, as most high schoolers tend to do, by girls and smoking dope and generally just being a pain in the ass.  My senior year I had a teacher that encouraged me and told me to look into creative writing classes in college.”

 

“And the rest, as they say, is history?”

 

“Pretty much.  Do you have a favorite book?”

 

“Hmm…”

 

“Wait, let me guess.   _ Delta of Venus _ , by Anaïs Nin.”

 

Stella laughs.  It colors her cheeks in a way that almost appears to be a blush.  God, she’s so beautiful, he thinks.

 

“ _ In Cold Blood _ , Truman Capote,” he says.

 

She shakes her head.  “No, but that is a riveting book.”

 

“Give me a hint.”

 

The waiter returns with Stella’s wine and then he takes Hank’s plate and leaves them with a dessert menu.

 

“Did you want anything?” Hank asks.

 

“It all looks very tempting,” she answers.  She’s relaxed and leaning her elbow on the table, cupping the wine glass loosely.  Her hair falls forward and she pushes it back.

 

“You want the chocolate brownie, don’t you?” he whispers conspiratorially. 

 

“I do want the chocolate brownie,” she whispers back.

 

“I think we should get it.”

 

“I won’t stop you.”

 

Hank lays the menu down to wait for the waiter.  “What about my hint?”

 

“It’s a book I read as a kid.”

 

“Please don’t tell me it’s  _ Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret _ .”

 

“God, no.”

 

“ _ Black Beauty _ ?”

 

“Never terribly fond of horses.”

 

“I’m coming up with a lot of Dr. Seuss titles in my head right now, but I can’t seem to think of any others.”

 

“ _ The Phantom Tollbooth _ .”

 

“I love that choice.  I love that that’s your favorite book.”

 

The tinge of color returns to Stella’s cheeks and this time Hank is pretty sure that she actually is blushing.

 

“Will you be wanting dessert, then?” the waiter asks, appearing suddenly next to the table.

 

“We’re going to share the chocolate brownie,” Hank answers, without taking his eyes from Stella.

 

“Very good.”  The waiter nods before he leaves, taking the dessert menu with him.

 

“Can I confess something to you that’s slightly embarrassing?” Hank asks.

 

“Should I be afraid?” she answers.

 

“It’s just that, I really pride myself on my ability to describe things or people.  It’s kind of like a knee-jerk reaction I have when I meet someone.  I have to write them in my head like I’m forming a character.”

 

“It's not far off from developing a criminal profile.”

 

“But, see, my issue is, I have been trying for what feels like forever to come up with an adequate description of the color of your eyes and there just isn't one.  There isn't a shade of blue that exists that lends itself to you.  It actually kind of pisses me off.”

 

“My sincere apologies for your aggravation.”

 

“I'm going to change my answer from red to Stella blue.”

 

“I can't tell if you're serious or if you're just being ridiculous.”

 

“Everything about this is ridiculous, but I've been completely serious this whole time.  I hope you know that.”

 

“Yes, I think I know that.”

 

The waiter arrives with their chocolate brownie and lays out two forks in front of them.  Their conversation falls into a lull.  Stella takes tiny bites of the brownie and sips her wine.  Hank watches the fork travel from the plate to her lips and thinks about giving in.  The check comes and Hank swipes it from the table before Stella can say a word and tucks his credit card inside the sleeve without looking at the bill.

 

Hank's drink is gone, there's a thimbleful of wine left in Stella's glass, and nothing but brownie crumbs litter the pristine white plate by the time he signs the check.  They get up to leave and Hank puts his hand at the low part of Stella's back, where his fingers can curl over the swell of her hip.

 

“I had a nice time with you tonight,” he says, punching the button for the elevator once they've made their way past the lobby.

 

“I have as well.”

 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open.  They step inside.

 

“What floor are you on?” Hank asks.

 

“Third.”

 

“What a coincidence.”  He presses the number three and grins at her.

 

They fall out of step with each other to make their way down the narrow hall towards their room.  Hank walks behind her with his hands in his pockets and stops when she stops in front of their door.

 

“This is me,” she says.

 

“Strange, this is me too.”

 

“I did have a very nice time tonight.”

 

“Me too.”  He takes one hand from his pocket and touches his thumb to the corner of her mouth.  “Brownie crumb,” he says.  There is no brownie crumb, but he really wants to touch her.

 

“Thanks.”  She stares up at him as though anticipating something to come next.  They're both waiting.

 

“Well, good night,” Hank says.

 

“Fuck your good night,” she whispers, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down to her mouth.

 

Hank doesn’t touch her, instead he stretches his arms out and grabs the doorframe with both hands.  He lifts his head from her kiss and chuckles when she tries to pull him back down.  “Why, Stella, are you trying to seduce me?” he asks.

 

“Where’s your key?”

 

“Left front pocket.”

 

She lets go of his neck with her right hand and sides it inside his pocket.  He leans into it so her back is flush against the door.  The card slot is behind her hips and she tries to turn around once she’s managed to pull the key from his pants, but there isn’t enough space.

 

“Allow me,” Hank says, sliding his hand behind her ass and pulling her hips against his groin.  He takes the key out of her hand and reaches back to blindly dip it into the slot.  The door beeps softly and he pushes the handle down, holding her up so he could push it open.  “Voila,” he says.

 

Stella clutches the front of his t-shirt and pulls him backwards into the room.  A lamp is on in the corner, but the light is dim.  The door snicks shut behind them and he’s got his hands on her ass and she has her tongue in his mouth.  He tries to steer her towards the bed, but she turns towards the wall and yanks him closer.  He grunts and rubs himself against her belly.  His balls are aching to be released from his pants, to be cupped in her hand.

 

Reluctantly, Hank pulls away from Stella, just to shed his jacket, but she claws at his shirt and won’t let him get too far.  He grabs at her hands and then pins her wrists to the wall above her head, bending towards her face and moving his hips back.  She huffs at him and stretches her lower body away from the wall to find his.  He chuckles and turns her head by pressing his nose against her cheek and licks the back of her ear because he knows it drives her crazy.  Her body falls back against the wall and he presses himself against her again until she moans.

 

Hank lets go of Stella’s hands to reach down and hold her hips.  She reaches for the waistband of his jeans and deftly opens the buttons down his fly, one by one.  He isn’t sure who’s more anxious for her to get there, him or her.  When she reaches into his shorts to stroke him, they both groan.

 

“Fuck, Stella.”  He tries to find the zipper for her dress at her back.

 

“Don’t bother,” she says.  “Lift the skirt.”

 

He looks longingly at her breasts, wanting to free them for his hands, and his mouth.  She tugs at his dick impatiently.

 

“Time for all that later,” she says.  “I want you inside me.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“If you don’t fuck me right now, you’ll never see my tits again.”

 

“So bossy.”

 

He has to bend down to reach the bottom of her dress and her hand slides out of his pants.  His dick strains for her and he winces from the angry throbbing in his groin.  He tugs and pulls at her tight skirt and when his hands meet garter belts and flesh at her thighs, his dick swells even fuller and hotter.

 

“Fucking hell,” he growls, revealing the tops of her thighs and the obvious crotchless panties she has on.  He breathes in the scent of her arousal and hee starts to salivate, his head dipping towards her, but she grabs tufts of his hair with both hands and yanks him up.

 

“Later, dammit,” she breathes, letting go of his head to shove his pants just past his hips.

 

“Spread your legs,” he demands, grabbing himself in one hand and stroking a few times, not that he needs to.  He rubs his dick against her and between her legs until he’s slick with her arousal.

 

She’s growling and writhing against the wall.  Her hands are braced on his shoulders in anticipation and she twists his shirt in her fingers, tries to lift one leg to hook it over his hip and draw him in.  It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be teased anymore.  Thank god she’s wearing those stilettos otherwise it wouldn’t work like this.  As it is, the angle is not quite right.

 

He pulls her hands from his shoulders and places them on her thighs, pressing them apart.  She holds herself open for him while he grips her ass and pushes into her with one slow thrust.  Her head thumps back against the wall and she exhales with a hiss.  Her hands move to his hips, under his shirt.  He keeps her body tight against his and rocks slowly, pushing and pulling at her with his hips and his hands, squeezing the cheeks of her ass with every small thrust.

 

Stella pulls Hank’s shirt up and licks the sweat from his chest.  Even with her hot little tongue gliding over his pectoral muscle, he feels mostly in control of the situation, until she closes her teeth on one of his nipples and he slams into her from the surprise electric shock that rushes through him.

 

“Yes,” she hisses, fingers digging into the back of his shoulders.  She bites down again and he can no longer manage nice and slow.  His dick now has a mind of its own and his hips pound against hers at a jackrabbit pace.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, breathing hotly and harshly into Stella’s hair.  Her head is still at his chest, only now she’s alternatingly nipping and suckling him and he can’t hold on much longer.

 

“Mmm,” she moans, reaching around to tweak his unattended nipple.

 

“Fuck, Stella,” he groans.  The muscles in his neck strain with the effort to hold on just a little longer, but it’s beyond him now and his balls grow hot and tight, readying for release.

 

Stella pushes her hips down against him and suddenly he’s shouting and she’s shuddering.  His heart pounds swiftly against his chest, just under her mouth where she breathes harsh and hot.  He kneads her ass while he slips free of her and she leans against him, away from the wall.

 

“Pretty successful first date, I’d say,” Hank says.

 

Stella chuckles and rubs her nose against his chest.

 

*****

 

Hank’s flight is early the next morning and Stella is still asleep when he leaves.  Her flight is later in the day, after her conference.  When he gets home, he unpacks the few items he took with him and spends the afternoon writing.

 

He’s in the living room reading the newspaper when Stella comes in and sets her overnight bag by the door.  She takes off her overcoat and steps out of her shoes before she comes to him and folds herself up beside him, putting her head on his shoulder and her hand on his thigh.  He slips his fingers into hers.

 

“Hey stranger,” Hank says.  “How was the conference?”

 

“Informative and dull.”

 

“Sorry to hear it.”

 

“It wasn’t all bad.”

 

“No?”

 

“I met an interesting guy at the hotel.  We had drinks and dinner.”

 

“Should I be jealous?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Good.”  He gives her hand a squeeze.  “By the way, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m pretty sure I won.”

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“You pulled me into that room like your life depended on me fucking you right then and now.”

 

“You touched me first.”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“How do  _ you _ figure?”

 

“You put your thumb on my mouth.”

 

“That wasn’t against the rules.”

 

“You still broke first.”

 

“Touching your lips isn’t exactly propositioning you.”

 

“Shall we agree it’s a draw?”

 

“How about a rematch?”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Glad you’re back, Sherlock.”

 

“Me too, Watson.”

 

The End

  
  



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